A Bird in the Backstreets
by AlexTWolfe
Summary: Blaze has to do her best to fly under the radar, which is sort of difficult with huge white wings. Will she be able to evade scientists trying to recapture her? And should she trust the mysterious Italian boy who may be more dangerous than he seems? Warning: Rated T for violence. Borderline M. No MaxRide Characters involved.
1. Welcome to the Backstreets

The Untold Story of the Bird in the Backstreets

OOC: This story was originally a roleplay between someone whom I met randomly on the internet and myself. I do not own the characters Blaze or Breeze. The plotline is half mine, I guess. There is a lot of the story that evades my mind, but these are the bits and pieces that I remember (the rp took place about a year ago and it disappeared because a site shut down). This world has been manipulated to suit our fancies (as in, redwoods on the edge of NY and alleyways where there wouldn't be). Anyway, enjoy! (And, owner of Blaze, if you find this, it's Masked. Sorry if I got anything wrong).

The backstreets. Blaze soared through the thick redwood trees, her strong white wings heavier than usual. A little had fallen from the nest—none of the other kids in the treehouse-neighborhood had wings like she did, so she had always tried to patrol the younger children so they wouldn't fall from the boardwalks. On some of the boardwalks there were ropes, but only a few had these flimsy railings. The backstreets, as she called them, were quite high up in the redwoods and sequoias, and they were safe from society because nobody ever looked up.

It was her duty to present the sad news to each 'household' hut, because she could relay messages faster than anyone around her (having wings helps sometimes. Go figure.) The outcasts, refugees, and freaks all found a safe haven in the backstreets, and though they had all come for different reasons, many bonded and formed 'families' nonetheless. It was better than being alone. Blaze had a few friends here and there—they had renamed her Blaze for the way the sun shone off her wings, reflecting the sun's beams. She actually preferred that to the numbers and letters that had made up her name before that.

Though her heart was heavy, she pushed on and spread the bad news with a word of caution, and hoped the day would lighten up in the afternoon.

Cole hung with only a hand and his toes keeping him from falling to the ground below. He was under a house, clinging with his fingers and his shoe to the bark so that he wouldn't fall. It was tempting, though. Nineteen years of his life had passed, and he had a certain…magnetism to danger. He didn't think what he was doing was that dangerous, though. He closed his eyes as a small breeze passed, breathing in through his nose and imagining himself freefalling from the treetops. He wasn't looking to kill himself—it had been a while since he had dropped from a high distance. The treetops, though, were exceptionally high.

"Be careful, please. You really shouldn't be down there," a voice broke his reverie and he opened his eyes to see a girl with blond hair lying on her stomach on the wooden walkway above him. With a single movement he swung himself around the limb he was clinging to so that both feet were planted firmly on the tree. Then he vaulted up, caught the wood next to her, and swung himself up beside her. He did so to show her that he was in control of his movements, and that he didn't need some kid to tell him what to do. Well, she looked to be about 17, but the idea still applied. That's when he noticed that the kid had wings—they had been hidden from him by the wooden walkway before. He stared into her violet eyes for a moment while deciding how to respond. He didn't much like conversations with people, so he decided to be terse with her.

"When I want your opinion, I'll ask for it," he replied, his sharp brown eyes piercing through her. She took a step back as he passed by her on his way toward what she could only assume to be his hut.

"I've, er, never seen you around here. Are you new?" she flew next to him, not wanting to give him a bad impression of her. She did her best to make friends with everyone, and was pretty successful at it for the past few years she had lived in the Backstreets. Until now.

"No," he muttered as she followed alongside him. He walked into the hut and closed the door, leaving her hovering there, wondering what she did wrong. She had half a mind to knock on his door and tell him that he was being rude, but her friend Talia called her name, so she shrugged it off and went to see what Talia wanted.

"Girl, there's something up with today. I don't like it. Bad vibes and all," she shook her head and rubbed her arms to smooth the gooseflesh. Blaze nodded her head, but dismissed it. Talia's bad vibes generally meant that it was going to rain, and that was all. For a girl who didn't like the rain, this was a bad vibe. Blaze liked the rain, but only as long as there was no lightning. Lightning threatened their trees, and while she had never felt in danger during a storm, she knew that if it hit one of the trees, it could break and possibly hurt someone.

"Relax, Talia, we'll take today step by step. Still got to install those new railings in. Did Tony say he could help?" Blaze asked, looking around for Talia's brother who was supposed to have gone for materials.

"He'll be here soon enough," Talia shrugged. Blaze nodded and then perked up her ears.

"I think I hear him," she mumbled and rushed out of their cabin to meet him. She had heard footsteps and knew that he was the only one to come up the trees on their side. Blaze smiled to herself and started to tip-toe around the corner to surprise him.

"Didn't think you could sneak up on-" she began, jumping out from behind the cabin wall. She froze as a man in sunglasses and a black suit reached for her arm. She flinched backwards, stumbling back so that she had to stretch out her wings to maintain balance.

"Subject acquired, ready the chopper," he said into a clip on his watch before taking another step toward her. It had been years since an adult entered the backstreets, and that one had been on the run. This man was obviously not. She pivoted on the balls of her feet and began to run in the other direction, her converse one-stars padding lightly across the wood. She was about to take off when she felt something poke her in the side. Looking down, she saw a dart-like contraption. Quickly Blaze pulled it out, but through her bloodstream now coursed a strong sedative. She felt her wings get heavy and knew that an attempt at flying would result in falling.

The man advanced and made a grab at her wrist, but she dodged and tried to run. She felt her legs crumble beneath her and she fell to her knees. Crawling wasn't the most effective means of escape but it was the only one she trusted right now. Another man ran across the boardwalk in front of her. He too had a gun, but as she watched him load it, she could see that he wasn't packing tranquilizers.

He raised it, mainly to taunt her and discourage her from running away. She turned back to Talia, who was hiding in a corner of their hut. Blaze hoped that she wouldn't get pulled into this. It was her responsibility to protect the youngers. Holding that thought in her mind, she got to her feet shakily, and fell forward toward the man with the gun. He dropped it to catch her, and she kicked it off the side of the boardwalk.

The man who had shot her with the tranquilizer shot another round from his gun, but she dropped so that it hit the man in front of her. It was a sloppy affair, but she effectively stopped herself from being shot again. She slipped around the man who had just been tranquilized, and pulled him backwards to use as a shield. He was heavier than anticipated, though, and she fell over with his deadweight on top of her. Tranquilizers didn't affect her nearly as well as they did regular humans, but with enough darts in her, she'd be more fast asleep than a mummy in a tomb. The first man approached, chuckling to himself, and held the gun at point blank against her head so she wouldn't move. Then he pulled a syringe from his belt and pushed her neck to the side.

"Goodnight, princess," he said with confidence.


	2. The Tango

**OOC: Thanks for the support! As aforementioned, no MaxRide characters are used—this was made in an rp on a site that was shut down/redone. All records were lost. Ergo, I reserve the right to modify (only slightly) the details as my mind cannot remember everything.**

A piece of bark knocked the syringe from his hand and off the side of the boardwalk. He cursed, fumbling in his side bag for another syringe. Another piece of bark hit him upside the head with enough force to create a momentary fuzziness and black-dotted vision.

"Guns aren't allowed in the backstreets, and we like to keep our drugs to ourselves," he heard a voice say from a nearby tree. The man quit fumbling for the syringe and raised his gun to the new sound.

The man heard a swish behind him, and the gun was knocked from his hand with what appeared to be a boomerang.

"Though, other dangerous projectiles are. It's sort of twisted," the voice came from another tree. He began to sweat as he looked for another weapon, or anything really to protect himself. He hadn't liked the idea of coming up to the treetops in a first place—he was a bit scared of heights.

"You breathe loudly. You might want to look to that if you ever try to walk quietly into a movie theatre," the voice was much closer now. He spun around, only to be yanked up from the subject by his collar.

"Goodnight, princess," Cole repeated the man's words for his own amusement, and knocked him out with a swift cut to the back of the neck. The winged girl was trying to keep her eyes open—he didn't know what they had given her, but whatever it was, it was doing the trick. He was about to pick her up but heard a chopper descending overhead. Ropes came down on either side of him, and people with a mix of tranquilizer guns and semi-automatic firearms landed, making a box around him and the girl.

Cole shifted his weight to the balls of his feet and bent his knees a bit more so he could move more quickly. Before he attacked, a woman slid down the rope and landed in front of him. She wore a black blazer, black/grey camouflage pants and combat boots—somehow the blazer seemed out of place. Her fashion sense mattered little to Cole, but the knives on her belt did.

"Step aside, boy. I am Subject Beta1's handler. And I don't want you getting in my way," the woman commanded. If Cole had not learned to keep a neutral face in the wake of danger, he may have raised his eyebrows in shock at her command. He was nineteen, and had never had the luxury of a childhood.

"I won't step on your toes if you won't," he replied, seeing her lackeys take a step back and retire their weapons. He found this to be very strange—these people had a sense of honour, and this woman wanted to show her dominance during the job instead of simply having her lackeys knock him out herself. Well, a few of her lackeys had grabbed the girl, who was struggling without much success.

"You asking me to dance?" she asked, unsheathing two knives from her hips. Without waiting for a response, she lunged at him, knives pointed at his gut. He dropped to the ground, grabbing her wrists and flipping her over him with his foot. He didn't let her go, though. When she flipped, she spun and regained her balance, pushing back against him and forcing his gravitational equilibrium to shift.

He rolled back, taking her with him. As she rolled over him again, she adjusted her wrists so the knives would slice through his abdomen. He felt the blades against his flesh but didn't have time to flinch before she was on her next move. They spun onto their feet, and as they did, he yanked her arms so that they were up against her chest, her blades pointing toward her neck, with him behind her.

Blaze's arms and legs were heavy—it was taking all she had to not surrender and fall into a deep slumber. She didn't know why the boy who had been cold towards her was helping her—in the backstreets, it was every-man-for-himself with the exception of friends. She twisted around, trying to get out of the grips of the men holding her wrists and body, but it was of little use.

"Can't say I'm not impressed," she muttered. Before he could answer, she elbowed him in the ribs and spun out of his grip, then jabbed at him with both knives in an asynchronous rhythm. He blocked both, then tried to jab her torso with his fists. She spun her arms in for a downward block, and spun close to him, her daggers slicing through his long-sleeved shirt.

"Unfortunately, I have business to attend to," she said, kicking him in the face before sheathing her knives and turning toward Blaze. The men around her had taken the time to cuff her, and the anesthetics were obviously taking an effect. She was now little more than a deadweight. Satisfied, the woman snapped her fingers together and made a spinning motion with her wrist. The helicopter which had dropped them off circled back around, hovering right next to the boardwalk.

Cole had feigned injury—well yes, she had been successful in cutting him, but he was far from done. When she turned, he ran at her, his shoes padding silently underneath him. Blaze could not call out to warn him that the woman was ready for him. At the last second, Blaze's 'handler' spun around and stuck him with the ends of a Taser. He cursed in his mind as the jolts of electricity coursed through him. He fell to his knees, and she tossed it to the side, then made sure Blaze was in the chopper.

"Persistent. I'll give him that," she muttered, ordering her men to take care of him. If all he was going to do was get in the way, then she could not be bothered by such an irritating obstacle. The men shoved him down and injected him with a tranquilizer, but he managed to knock it away. Too many sets of hands were holding his chest against the floor of the boardwalk, but he continued to struggle.

"Sleep well, Beta1. You'll be home soon enough," she whispered sincerely as the handler got into the chopper. She did care what happened to Blaze—she had seen the subject mature throughout her life until she broke from the organization.

One of the men knelt on Cole's back in order to hold him steady for the tranquilizer. Although Cole was quite skinny, he was not weak. He managed to twitch from side to side, making the man on his back lose his balance.

"Oh, honestly? This is getting tedious," the handler sighed, taking her gun and shooting it out of the chopper at the boy. Never trust a scientist to get the job done. Why they had insisted on coming, she didn't know. What she did know was that her men and their real bullets were more effective negotiators than a simple tranquilizer dart. The boy grit his teeth, but he didn't cry out, and still continued to fight.

She then ordered her men to knock him out. If the kid went to the police, they'd be under fire. A kick to the back of the neck did the trick. She rolled her eyes as the men brought the boy into the chopper. This was going to be interesting to explain to the boss.

**ooc: let me know what you think!** **More to come.**


	3. The Caged Bird

Blaze awoke in a padded holding cell. It was comfortable and fluffy, but it was a cell nonetheless. Nothing in her cell was sharp or pointed. Well, nothing was sharp except for her handcuffs, which were creating minor abrasions on her wrists. Her limbs were still a bit heavy, but she managed to move herself into the corner of her cell, the furthest from anyone she could get. She didn't remember much about what had happened after the injection, but she did remember struggling, and she could have sworn she saw Deana, her handler from years ago.

Deana crouched across the room on the outside of the bars from her.

"Are you hungry?" she asked, offering a hearty meal of potatoes, broccoli and other vegetables. She knew that Blaze was a vegetarian, and so she had the kitchen staff cook something up for her. Blaze inspected the food with her eyes, scanning the cut carrots and zucchini with hesitation. She had not had a proper meal since she had entered the backstreets—most people lived with very little there. Deana pushed the tray through a small space between the bars.

"Do you plan to win me over with food? What did you put in it?" Blaze took up the plastic, blunted fork and poked the potato, checking it for bits of crushed up medication. Deana sighed and stood up straight.

"Is it working?" Deana pointed out with a raised eyebrow. They hadn't put in any medication that she knew of. She had checked to make sure they weren't poisoning her yet. They were scientists, not torturers, or at least that's what they told themselves to help them sleep at night. She was just the handler—the heavy, as the scientists liked to call her or any of her squadron. Many times she had stepped in when the scientists went overboard on the testing—Blaze had never thanked her, but she never had to. Sometimes Deana wondered if the scientists were humans or compassionless androids.

She walked down the hallway and turned the corner toward her office. As she passed the barred cell with the boy in it, she stopped. The cell was empty. Darn that kid—where had he escaped off to now? They had taken the bullet out of him, but had not kept him in the medical ward. Someone had called off her guard from the cell.

"Code blue," she said into her radio. When she slid it back into its holder, she removed her gun from its holster on her belt.

(Rewind in time a little bit)

"This'll only be more painful for you if you struggle," a 'doctor' pointed out as he struggled against the hands holding him down. They strapped in his wrists and ankles, as well as his chest around the bullet wound. One of the doctors with blue latex gloves went toward his neck with a syringe, but he knocked the syringe out of the man's hand with his head.

"Hold him down, will you?" Another went to secure his head but he twisted his head and bit the man's finger hard. That is when one of the doctors went straight for the bullet with his tweezers. Cole froze as the metal scraped his skin around the wound. He didn't want the so-called-scientists to do a hack job, so he stopped struggling altogether. He wasn't frigid, but eerily relaxed and calm. The men looked at each other, then at him, and continued with the procedure.

Though he was awake through the entire thing, he did not flinch once—and he felt everything. He had to focus, though, on resisting the urge to fight back or shy away from the metallic tools. Cole closed his eyes and focused on his muscles, doing as he was once taught to do, and ignored the pain.

"What do you think happened to this guy?" one of the scientists whispered to another, gently pushing the skin on his torso and arms around with a few gloved fingers.

"Beats me," another whispered back. Cole knew why they were curious about him, but he would never speak about it. They were the first in years to see him for what he was, and their minds could not begin to imagine how he got that way. He was tempted to smirk, but he had controlled his body to not respond to anything they threw at him, words included.

When they were done, they threw him in the cell and tossed a new black shirt his way. He caught it and waited for them to leave before breaking out of the cell. It was fairly easy for him to pass undetected through an area—he kept to the shadows, crept silently, and struck fast. He managed to navigate through the building towards a storage closet. Just as he was about to try the door handle, it opened and a janitor stepped out.

"Hey who-" the man began, but Cole shoved him back into the closet and followed him inside. A matter of minutes later, Cole re-entered wearing a spare janitor's costume. It suited him—black slacks and a black button-down with a small nametag-pin attached. He brought with him a mop and a wheeled bucket full of soapy water. As a group of scientists passed him, he pulled down his janitor's cap a bit farther over his face and pretended to diligently mop part of the hallway.

"Beta1 is almost ready for transport. The chopper to the lab should be ready in fifteen minutes tops," one of the scientists informed the others. Cole was within earshot, but did not raise his head. He had seen in the janitor's closet a small map of the vicinity. He could probably find his way to the launch field, which meant his freedom if he could find a way out. He would have gone out the front door, but he had seen on the helicopter that they were on an island, far from the coast.

When the scientists were out of earshot, Cole got to work. He snuck into a 'heavy's' office, and opened the drawers until he found a firearm. After tucking that into his belt, he made his way toward the bird-girl's cell. Well, he didn't know exactly which was hers, but he had a sense of where she would be. That, he couldn't explain.

((Now it's pretty much up to date with the present))

The alarms sounded, and he saw people rush past him in uniform. In order to drown out the audio-signal, he pulled the switch which set off the fire alarm_. That ought to confuse them for a moment_, he thought. It would take them a moment to realize that he was only faking being a janitor. He checked his watch, and sped up his search.

"Blondie, get up," Blaze heard a voice from outside the bars. Her eyes followed the black shoes up to the janitorial costume and to one of the last faces she saw before she blacked out at the Backstreets.

"I have a name," she replied, standing up as he breezed through the keys and unlocked the cell door. Somehow she didn't think it interested him at the moment, so she just rolled her eyes and walked over to the door. She would have gotten out on her own—she had heard that a chopper was going to get her, and she could out-maneuver a helicopter if she could get into the air.

"Follow my lead," he pulled her handcuffed wrists out of the cell. He didn't have time to search for a key which would completely unlock her wrists now. He led her to the launch field slowly. Every time he saw a guard scanning the hall, he had to pull her into a cove or behind a filing cabinet and hope that her wings didn't stick out. Thankfully, there were more scientists at the vicinity than there were guards, the former of which were easier to evade and not as big of a threat in his eyes.

"Ready for the fun part, princess?" he had taken her behind the bushes on a path toward the chopper so that they would not be seen. When he asked that, though, Cole pushed her out into the open, and then followed right behind her. He saw the guards around the helicopter begin to raise their guns, so he raised his.

At the girl's head.

"Now unless you want to lose your prime subject, you're going to do exactly as I command." The hair on the back of Blaze's neck stood up and a shiver ran down her spine. She felt the cold metal graze gently against the side of her head. Was this part of the plan? Maybe it was part of his plan.

((Hey! Thanks for reading. Post a review and tell me what you think! It gives me inspiration to write if I know someone's waiting on me.))


	4. Perfect Getaway

((Hey, sorry for not posting in a while. At camp, so it will be harder to get internet. I will try to pump out one a week if I can steal my friend's computer again.))

Blaze felt something else against her neck, but before she could respond, she had already been dosed with more of the sleeping serum. Had she more energy, she would have swung around and punched him in the face. Partially due to the gun pointed at her head, and partially due to her utter exhaustion, she was in no shape to respond defensively. She felt her legs get heavier, and she struggled to stay standing upright. However, much to her disgust she felt herself falling back and against the boy who had released her.

Deana ordered her men down with a swipe of her hand. They lowered their weapons by the time her hand reached her side. She wanted to take care of the little tyke, but she couldn't with Blaze there as a human (well, mutant) shield. She too lowered her gun, dropping it to the ground. Backup would be at the holding facility soon, and then they could retrieve Blaze safely. At the same time, Deana felt confident that she could handle the situation without waiting for the extra bodies. It would be a bold move against her boss, but she could not let the boy get away with her kid. Well, it wasn't her kid, but Blaze was her responsibility, and she took her job more seriously than a paid 24/7 job. Her boss didn't know the mutant kids like she did.

"You don't know how to fly the chopper. Even if you did, it has a skin-graft identification mechanism, so only I can fly it. I will let you go, but I am coming with you. We can negotiate terms in the copter," Deana replied confidently, walking toward him. She had every intention of giving him a sailor's death by sending him down to the briny depths of the Atlantic, but she first had to secure Blaze and make sure she was okay. She had seen the dosage amount that he had given Blaze-enough for a normal human being to be out for a day. For Blaze, though, the effect would only last a matter of time. A few hours at most. She smiled to herself on the inside but kept her face stoic so the kid would not get suspicious.

"Get in," he said, pulling a now sleeping Blaze into the helicopter and sliding the door shut behind her. He used Deana to make sure that her men kept their weapons down. He could tell that they would not fire on the chopper with her and Blaze in it, so he was using that as his leverage to get away. Deana stepped into the pilot's chair and Cole sat beside her in the front area, pointing the gun at her but from far enough away so that she could not hit it out of his hand without having to lunge, at which point he could defend himself or use the gun.

They flew for about three hours in utter silence (aside from the noise of the blades of the chopper. Blaze woke up with her cheek against the hard metal floor of the chopper. Her arms and wings were splayed out beside her like a bug that was squashed against a window. She was no bug, though, and she was still alive. She was not going to risk getting up at this time for a number of reasons-the majority of which led to the fact that she was still dizzy and would be unable to fend off the Italian boy or Deana if they got near.

Instead, she crawled to the edge where the hatch was to the door. It would be extremely dangerous to exit the aircraft at that time, but her mind wasn't working properly, and she figured that her wings would catch the air well enough to stay afloat for a while. Cole noticed a rustling behind him and a click-in the split second it took him to turn around to check on Blaze, she had made it out of the door to the helicopter. Cole cursed under his breath and bolted up from his chair, then he ran to see where she had gone off to. His eyes quickly scanned the skies to the side of the helicopter and above it. Nothing. When he looked down, he found her free-falling, her wings getting battered by the gusts of wind. She was not in control of her flight pattern in any way, and hit the water with a loud splash.

Deana cursed, and stood up as well.  
"She never learned to swim," she panicked, swerving the copter around in an attempt to get low over the water and save her. Cole's eyes went wide, and without hesitation he dove off of the copter after her. Deana searched the waters for them, but the wind had picked up so much, it was difficult to make anything out.

Cole hit the water at an angle which allowed him to slice through the water without being slowed down so much by smacking against the water's surface. He opened his eyes under water and the salt immediately began to sting his eyes. He saw a feathery mass sinking slowly, and swam over to it. He swam behind her and looped his arms underneath hers, then kicked toward the surface. Cole was losing oxygen fast, and barely made it to the surface in time to take another breath. He gasped and spit out salt water, then looked around for the spit of land they had passed right before she made her escape efforts. She was heavy, in the water, and her wings were only weighing her down. Birds had special glands which helped their feathers stay waxy and dry-she wasn't fully bird, though, so she didn't have the same protective mechanisms. Hitting the water had knocked her out, but she was still breathing, that he could tell.

He kicked until he could stand on the bank of the small island spit, and then slowly pulled her to shore. With some effort he was able to roll her onto her back so that she could breathe easier. Her chest rose and fell in a steady manner, but her face was covered by her hair. _That can't help her airways,_ he thought and knelt down near her head, careful not to kneel on her wings. He brushed the hair out of her face gently as if he was dealing with a porcelain doll. She had hit the water pretty badly, but she had no broken bones that he could sense.

As he was brushing her side bangs from her face, she reached up and caught his hand, pulling it away but not letting go. She was more awake now, and her purple eyes were fixed on him. Any move that he made would be monitored closely. She had let down her guard for a moment when she decided to follow him, but she would not make that mistake again.


	5. Trust Issues

**Cole stared at her for a moment, frozen by the fact that she had regained consciousness and strength so soon. She was stronger than she looked, and definitely more durable.**

**When she grabbed his hand away, there was a split second of utter silence. The sun off of her violet eyes created black and brown spots in his vision, but he blinked them away and looked at her again. It wasn't his fault she was soaking, but she glared at him as if it was. Blaze stared straight into his dark green eyes, but it was too calm to be read. That only frustrated her more. If she couldn't find a weakness on him, how was she going to distract him enough to get away?**

**"Listen closely. If we want to make a safe getaway, we need to-" Cole began, but he didn't have time to finish before she kicked him where the sun don't shine. It didn't hurt him by the looks of it, but it startled him enough for her to wriggle away from beside him. As Blaze rolled away, she kicked up her legs so she would roll onto her feet. She stumbled over her messy footing in the loose sand, leaving little imprints where her toes contacted the earth.**

**Blaze headed into the heavily wooded heart of the little island and after a few minutes, hid behind a tree. Her wings were not quite ready for flight, so she'd have to stall him and Deana until then. She assumed that by now the Italian boy and Deana had struck some sort of deal for his freedom and safe passage at her expense. It wasn't hard now to see that the Italian boy was just using her, and was in it for himself. Why he got himself involved in the first place still puzzled her, but she had bigger things to worry about. It was a double-teamed manhunt, and she was the prized game.**

**Remembering that it would be a while before her wings would be able to function normally, she resisted the urge to climb a tree. She also reasoned that the thick ground vegetation would hide her more fully than the treetops. _Where is the last place they'd look for me?_ she wondered. The answer was simple—if she was usually high in the sky, she would have to get as low to the ground as possible. With that, she found a pile of large twisted roots and dug up the dirt from under them. After overlaying the roots with sticks and fallen leaves, she crept under them. Her wings were pressed firmly against her back in the most uncomfortable of ways, but at least she was well-hidden. As she heard footsteps approach, she made no noise. She could barely see the feet of the person walking by—and recognized Deana's combat boots. **

**The minute that Deana took to check the area before moving on was the longest of Blaze's life. She held her breath until she was sure that Deana was far enough away, and then she exhaled quietly in hopes that she would be safe. She did her best to steady her breathing and readjust herself under the roots without drawing any movement from the fallen leaves above. She thought she felt a light breeze, but no leaves fell out of place. She felt the ants and beetles begin to acclimate to her presence as they started to climb over her casually. The feeling made her skin crawl, but she remained rigid as the insects went about their usual selves. She couldn't wait to shake off the bugs and take to the air, but her nerves were still coming back to her. She was about to move when she felt a hand on her mouth. She followed the hand with her eyes as it attached to an arm, then a shoulder.**

**"Don't make a sound and follow me," the Italian boy muttered under his breath. Blaze was not about to do anything he said—she bit his hand, but his eyes dared her to scream.**

**"I'm trying to help," he muttered again. His voice had the ever slightest hint of irritation on it, but his face was completely calm, and his hand didn't move. Suddenly, they heard a footstep a few meters away and the hand was gone. Blaze's breathing shallowed but she tried to remain silent. How had he found her after she covered up her trails? She had learned the trick from Deana herself—how not to be spotted. And yet he crept up so silently that she couldn't hear it in the windless air. That sent shivers down her spine. **

**Those shivers were enough to create the smallest of rustles from her contact with the leaves above. Deana stopped in her tracks as she neared the place she had already walked past. She hesitated, and then kicked the leaves off of the roots where Blaze was hiding. The leaves fell away to reveal the winged teenager, petrified in place. She could not break out of the roots which were now her prison bars. **

**"No," Blaze whimpered and struggled to free herself from the roots. Whatever notion which made the roots seem like a good idea was gone now. Deana stood over them, pulled back Blaze's head when she struggled and injected her with more of the sleeping serum. Blaze could feel it pulse through her veins like a poison spreading throughout her body. Deana broke the roots with a thick knife and was about to pick up Blaze when she was tackled to the ground, knocked out cold. Blaze wasn't sure what was going on until she saw a hand reach out for her. Not to grab her, though, but to help her. As her vision began to go blurry, she took the hand, unsure of whom it belonged to. When she pulled herself out of the ditch, she was face to face with the dark green eyes she had told herself not to trust. **

**"You don't have to trust me. But do yourself a favour and let's get off the island," he offered. The Italian boy had a point—she wanted to get off the island. She was freezing cold and soaked to the bone, and the serum was making her tired. She began to fall forward, and he wrapped her arms around his shoulders and then picked her up so that she rested on his back. That way, she wouldn't slip if her wings twitched. He ran with her for a while, and though she was drowsy, she recalled that his footsteps didn't make a noise. Was he some sort of mutant too, or just a silent killer?**

**They broke from the forested area and she could see, mixed with her vision of the shining blue water and the golden sand, a metallic structure. The Italian boy placed her gingerly in the side of the copter, tossed out the tracker/radio, and started up the chopper. He had watched the exact movements that Deana had done in order to fly the copter—that meant by no means that he could fly it steadily, and it took him a minute or two to start it up and get it off the ground, but soon enough they were flying over the ocean once more.**

**Blaze was so cold, she was almost to the point where she wouldn't shiver anymore. Cole reached back into the body of the copter and tossed her two thick blankets. They were military-grade and scratchy, just what Blaze hated the most. The wooly fuzz felt uncomfortable on her skin.**

**"Wear it, Blondie, it's better than nothing," the Italian boy suggested.**

**"My name's Blaze," she muttered before drifting off to sleep.**


	6. Landing near Lancaster

Blaze awoke as the copter was setting down shakily on a grassy area next to a cornfield. She wasn't sure if it was the smell of cows or the shaking of the helicopter which woke her up. It took her a moment to remember where she was, and she was still slightly dizzy from the medication.

"Where are we?" she mumbled, turning toward the pilot seat. She knew who was sitting there—his dark floppy hair covered his dark eyes from her view.

"Safe," the Italian boy muttered, not taking his eyes off of the view in front of him. He had just landed the copter, and was still fumbling with the controls to power down the vehicle. Blaze scanned the buttons and gizmos, played eenie-meenie-miney-moe with her eyes, and flicked a switch. The power shut off.

"That doesn't answer my question," Blaze replied, yawning and sitting up a bit. Her wings were sore, so she had turned to sleep on her side during the night. Part of the island had come with them in the helicopter, and was everywhere in Blaze's once-white wings. Sticks and clumps of dirt hung off of them, making her back heavier than usual. Those would have to go. She started to comb out the mud and twigs with her fingers, dislodging debris and smoothing out her feathers as she went. The Italian boy finally turned his head to face her. She wondered how far she could push him before he would reveal his true self.

"Somewhere in Pennsylvania. A few hours from New York, I think," the Italian boy responded. He got out of the chopper, then opened the door for her on her side and helped her out. She found it strange that he was acting so civilly towards her, as if a day before, he hadn't pointed a gun at her head or tried to use her to get away. It was her intention to run the second the balls of her feet hit the ground. He could see that in her eyes, and by the way he lightened his grip, he wasn't going to stop her. Maybe he had run out of uses for her.

"Thank you," Blaze replied coldly as he placed her gingerly on the ground. He watched her with those calm dark—wait, they had a greenish tint to them before. Now they were jet black and seemingly harder than before.

"What are you?" she whispered under her breath, not sure she wanted the answer. He seemed, in personality, to be some sort of demon. True, he had gotten her out of the enclosure, and he had helped her in the forest—she still didn't trust his motives.

"Attempting to be a gentleman," he joked, the light dancing off of his dark eyes. The way he said it, with such a plain, dry voice, the joke was lost. He set her down, and she immediately turned on her toes to run, when she stopped. There were three people walking toward them, barely two meters away now. The wool blankets were still covering her wings, which was good. At the backstreets, she could be free, but she knew that wings attracted unwanted attention and prejudice in most places.

"You lost?" the youngest of the three asked. He was about to Blaze's waist, and could not be more than nine years old. His light brown hair swished behind him as he walked, the curly locks almost down to his shoulders. Before Blaze could respond, her stomach growled loudly. If the Italian boy portrayed any sign other than calmness, it was a quiet, quick exhale that could pass as a snicker.

"You're welcome to come in, we were just about to put supper on the table, and there's always room for more," suggested the elderly woman of the group. She had curly whitish grey hair, and her facial structure was similar to the young boy's. The teenage girl to the side of them nodded. She wore a plain white dress with a blue lace apron which was a near match to her grandmother's. Her curly blond hair bounced as she nodded, the curls remaining in tight bunches. Blaze thought it was very pretty, but she would not want to try brushing that hair out in the morning. Her straight blond hair was hard enough to handle once it had been blown about by the wind as she flew.

"We enlist," the little boy added, then caught himself "I mean, in fist," he tried to correct himself. His older sister smiled behind her lips.

"We insist, is what Allen is trying to say. My name is Margret, and this is Granny Sue," Margaret said, pointing with her hand as if she were marketing products on a hair products commercial. Cole was all for hitting the road and making his way on his own, as he could see that Blaze did not want to see him again. Blaze too, wanted nothing more than to run away. However, as her stomach rumbled loudly again, she was too embarrassed to decline.

"I'm Blaze," she carefully shook their hands in a way that would not move the blanket from her shoulders to expose her wings. She kept one hand as a clasp in front of her neck, wearing the blanket as a cloak. Her clothes were still in the process of drying out, and the cool air was beginning to set in as the sun began to set.

"Cole," the Italian boy introduced himself. It irked her that she hadn't known this before—she then realized that she had never gotten his name in all the madness that had gone down. They headed for the house, and Blaze realized that her wings stung when they brushed against the blanket. She reached back under the blanket and brushed her fingers along her wings once more, noticing a long gash on her right wing, deep underneath the feathers. She winced, the grease and dirt from her fingers causing the cut to sting more. It must have happened during the struggle under the tree roots.

Cole noticed this, but said nothing. He began to think of a way to casually ask for medical supplies so she could get the cut cleaned. She wouldn't be able to fly if it was infected and sore. The old woman was talking to him about the farmland they owned, and how everything seemed to malfunction all the time. She had called in her nephew on a few accounts, but he had his own farm to worry about. Cole calculated in his head the amount of time it would take for Blaze to heal—she was more birdlike, so she would heal quickly, but still she needed time before she could reenter the skies.

Having had the luxury of flight, he could guess that she had become less accustomed to walking for long distances. And with no money, she wouldn't be able to make it far on foot.

"It would be my pleasure to offer my services if you could put us up for a night or two," he piped up. The children's grandmother was more than happy to oblige, she said. He could tell by the way she had been going on about it that she needed someone to do the work.

Blaze considered arguing with this, because she wanted to get on the road and she didn't know these people, but they seemed nice enough. _Dumb, too, if they are going to trust Cole_, she thought, but she kept it to herself.

"I can help out a little too," she chipped in. She wouldn't be able to do much without exposing her wings, but maybe she would be able to teach the kids something about the natural world. They seemed like the farming type, but there was more to nature than horticulture. The old woman led them into a small wooden house in the middle of the field.

"You'll have to excuse the size. Margaret, you'll share the room with Allen, and our guests will have your room. Please go and make sure that it is clean enough for them," she instructed.

"Blaze, would you mind cutting up the last of these onions for the soup?" Sue asked her sweetly.

"And Cole, you can fill up the wash buckets for after dinner," Sue pointed to a few large wooden buckets. They sat in a large tub, and a bar of soap lay on a ledge next to them. There's a small stream-river that lays down half a mile south of here," she pointed in the direction in which he needed to go. By the time he got back, it would be time to eat.

"Allen, why don't you go help your sister," Sue added, then went back to stirring the broth and adding a spice or two to it. For a moment, the kitchen was silent aside from the whir of the gas stove under the stew pot.

"If you don't mind me asking, ma'am, where are their parents?" Blaze asked. She didn't want to seem rude, and she couldn't pass any form of judgment because she had no parents to note, but she had always pictured the perfect family as one with grandparents, parents, and at least two children.

"They're off doing missionary work," the grandmother said. Blaze nodded, not entirely sure what that meant. But by the tone of her voice, it was not her place to ask more questions.

"How long have you two been traveling together?" the elderly woman asked. Blaze hadn't kept track of the days. In hopes, it wouldn't be much longer. She just needed to heal up, and then she'd be off.

"Only a little while," she informed her. This time, the grandmother nodded and did not ask more questions, to which she was thankful. Blaze took in a deep waft of air coming from the stew—it smelled so good, her stomach growled softly again. As if on cue, Cole walked in with the wash buckets.

"Dinner time," Granny Sue called to the children, and they all sat down to eat.


	7. Mending Wounds

When he had walked to get the water, Cole reflected on how the past day or so had gone. He hadn't slept since he had been knocked out, which was over a day ago. He was used to not sleeping for long periods of time, though, so that didn't bother him that much. More than anything, he was relieved that Deana had been lying about the skin-graft identification being a part of flying the copter. Did he have any doubts? He did the entire time. Had he been scared?

Azoris trained themselves not to show fear. Not to feel pain, or at least not to show that they were feeling it. It was a family name that he had cast off long ago. He still kept the warrior mentality, though. Show no emotion—that irked Blaze, he could see that. The calmness in his gaze could be unnerving at times. He would try to work on that—act 'normally' as can be, especially around company. It was strange to him that the family offered quick hospitality, but he could see that it was partially a cry for help. He figured that he and Blaze had a few days before Deana would be able to track them. He had cut off all radio controls aside from navigation, and then he had rerouted that to make sure that they could not easily follow his lead without cracking a code.

Help, they would. They would have to earn their keep, and he was sure that the family would be glad to have the extra set of hands. He wondered if they had any medical supplies. He filled up more water than was necessary so that he could save some to clean out her wound. Cole had noticed it earlier, but hadn't thought it was that deep.

"How long are you in the area for?" Margaret asked, pushing back her curls before picking up her spoon and looking at him. Her voice broke his train of thought, and he looked up at her, then over to Blaze.

"We should be able to lend a hand for a few days, but after that, we're off. Traveling," he informed her. He could tell by the way the youngest one was looking at them that they didn't get visitors often. It made sense—all around them, stretching for miles it seemed, was just farmland. It was a nice change from the bars, but he missed the trees. Blaze would have probably enjoyed the open skies, he figured, had her wings been all healed up. He glanced over at her to see what she would say to add to the conversation, if anything. When he had first met her, she seemed like the sort of person who was just rays of sunshine all the time.

"Yea, we have a long journey ahead of us. Lots of places to see, things to do," Blaze smiled sweetly. It was a genuine smile, but a very vague statement. At least now that the medication was wearing off, she seemed like her regular cheery self.

"I have a road map if you need one," offered Granny Sue. Blaze's smile widened and she nodded in thanks. As she switched off the power, she had noticed that the fuel on the helicopter was too low to go anywhere. The fact that helicopters did not run out of fuel sooner was a miracle all on its own. She wondered how much time they had bought themselves.

"Much appreciated," Blaze said with another grin. The food warmed her belly, and it stopped growling after a few bowlfuls of the soup. She realized that she was eating more than anyone else, but that is the way her metabolism worked. That, and she felt like she hadn't eaten in years.

Once dinner was done, Cole washed the dishes while Blaze helped prepare the children for bed. Once they were all washed up, the little one asked for a story.

"I'm sorry, I don't know any," she whispered to the boy, stroking a wisp of hair from his eyes as she tucked in the covers. She wasn't very good at making them up, either. She'd have to come up with one for tomorrow. In the meantime, Blaze turned out the lights and left the room, closing the door behind her. She walked over to the room she was sharing with Cole. The light was on, and there was a small bucket of water and a sponge that he had laid out so that she could care for her wound. He had also left a patch or two of gauze and a bandage wrap.

Cole was in the small living room to the side of the dining room, chatting up the grandmother and getting a list of things needing to be done. Blaze wondered if she should ask for help. Her fingers just barely reached the cut's edge, much less the center of it. She would need assistance, and it would have to come from either the grandmother, who would probably call the cops, or Cole, who she didn't want to rely on. If she allowed herself to trust him too much, she would be done for when he turned his back on her to save his own skin.

"Cole," Blaze popped her head down from the top of the stairs.

"Yea?" he called up to her, not putting down the pen and paper that Granny Sue had given him to take down the list of chores.

"Come help me," Blaze replied sternly, as if it were something which was unspoken, that he should have already done. He sighed, placed the pen and paper on his seat, and went to go help her with the antibacterial ointment and the gauze. She had only asked in such a manner because she needed to be in control of something—the entire time she had known him, he had been pulling her through hallways and she didn't know the plan. One could say she was still sore about that.

"How deep is it?" he asked, pulling off the blanket from her back. She winced as the blanket brushed her wings. She felt like saying, just that once, "Let's take a sharp branch and slash it down your back, and see how deep it goes, shall we?" but she didn't. She felt bad for thinking like that, but the pain was tiring her.

"It's not that bad," she whispered bravely. Cole nodded, and dabbed a cloth in water.

"This may sting a little," he warned. He couldn't help grinning when he heard her whisper. It wasn't that he enjoyed her pain, rather that he was impressed by her bravery. He saw the wound—it looked like it hurt. He dabbed the wet towel over the wound and back in the water. She didn't flinch.

"You can barely smell the sea water on you now," he said, making a point that she smelled of forest and dirt. The way he said it, it wasn't exactly lighthearted, but it was as light as she had ever heard him be. It brought on a quiet laugh, then a slightly louder one.

"It wasn't that funny-" he looked surprised at how much it had made her laugh. Then it hit him—she wasn't laughing at him. Well, it may have started out that way, but now this was a different laugh. She was almost giddy with happiness.

"Y'alright Blondie?" he asked, leaning so he could see past her wings to her face. She half seemed like she was crying.

"We're out of that place. I thought we wouldn't get out," she whispered happily, hugging her knees up to her chest. She felt like dancing, but she didn't because Cole was still in the room, tending to her wounds. The windows were open, and a playful breeze made its way up into the room, allowing Blaze's hair to dance. If it was the only dancing she would do that night, that would suffice. She was away from Deana, and free.

"Done," Cole said, dropping his hands once he had finished stitching her up. He had experience with stitching wounds, so hers was nice and neatly done. He laid a bandage over the area, though, to make sure the feathers did not rub the stitches too much.


	8. Water Under the Bridge

Blaze woke up with her face in the pillow—her mouth tasted of pillow too. She spit into the sink, and then noticed that there was a toothbrush that was still packaged and sitting on the windowsill by the sink. She uncased it and used it, looking out the window. Instantly she was blinded by the sun, so she closed her eyes. The sun. Before the Backstreets, she had not known sun. The days of being caged and prodded with needles were refreshed in her memory from the day that she spent at the testing facility. She shivered, then opened the windows more so that she could feel the warm air against her face. Anything to battle the cold that the white padded walls brought on when she thought about her past.

She pulled on a light jacket that had been laying out for her on the edge of her bed. It was long enough to cover the length of her wings, and while it was a bit loose, it worked. She wondered how the woman had known, or if Cole had fetched it. Where was that guy? Soon after he had bandaged her up, he had left the room and she had fallen asleep on the bed. She slept well, after having been happy that they were safe. Usually that wasn't the case. Nightmares would haunt her, making her heart race during the night. Apparently she tossed and turned when that happened. In the Backstreets, she would wake up with rustled feathers from rolling over them in the night.

After getting dressed, she headed downstairs, still barefoot. The children were at the table. Well, she shouldn't really call Margaret a child, as the girl was only slightly shorter than she was, and most likely only a year away from her. Even in the Backstreets, though, she had felt so much older than the girls her age. There weren't many—she had been deemed the mother of many of the groups living there, especially the little ones.

"Where's Cole?" she asked, looking around the edge to where he had been sitting the night before with Granny Sue.

"Already out workin'," Granny Sue grinned. Her wrinkles deepened when she smiled, but her face remained soft and welcoming. Blaze looked out a window overlooking a field, but didn't see him. She shrugged, then looked at the table. A place had been set for her, with a bit of toast and jam. Strawberry, by the smell of it. As she munched on the toast, Granny Sue told her what chores she could do.

Cole was fixing a bridge by the stream from which he collected water. The boards there were rotted, and from them hung fishing lines. Cole pried up each board in silence. If it had been Flynn in his place instead of him, Flynn would have started singing and dancing around by now while working. He missed the rambunctious redheaded gypsy boy. He had sung and danced around the ship that Cole had stowed away on, out of Italy. Well, they had found him and his younger brother after a day, but they did not make them go back. That was ten years ago. He had tried to teach Cole to sing and dance—but that was not the Azori way. Silence. He tossed a rotted log to the side of the bridge and started replacing it with a new board. He was about halfway through repairing the bridge when he saw someone approach.

"I thought you might be thirsty, so I brought you something to drink," Margaret said, holding out a metal platter with two glasses and a pitcher of lemonade. Cole wiped his hands on his shirt and looked down—it was soaked with sweat. He looked at the pitcher of lemonade and nodded a thanks.

"So, you're from Italy? What's that like?" Margaret asked, taking a seat next to him on the bridge while she poured the lemonade into their glasses. Cole stared straight forward, thinking of how to phrase his perception of Italy in a nice way. Tourists found it to be a beautiful place. He did not.

"I prefer America. Your farm is very nice," Cole said carefully. He wasn't comfortable talking about his hometown in Italy. Margaret didn't seem to notice that he was uncomfortable with the subject. Well, he said it in such a calm way that anyone who didn't know him would accept it as a normal reaction. His eyes said it all, though.

"Yea, I like it too. I was born in Manhattan but my parents moved us out here to live with my grandmother. That was about a year ago. No one around here is below the age of 60 out here, except for me and Allen. And, well, you two now," Margaret explained. She let her legs hang off of the bridge, and she began to kick them through the air below her. That girl could talk for hours, he figured. If it was how she said, and there was no one their age to talk to. He took a sip of lemonade and waited for her to continue.

"I want to get out of this town, though. Granny Sue is nice and all, but I really want to see the world and-" she started getting into her future plans, and Cole said that he'd listen while he worked. Honestly, this girl had a mouth on her. One'd think she hadn't seen anyone in a year. She flicked her hair behind her when she was talking about what she was going to do when she grew up. She was going to be famous, she said. An actress or something like that. It was a cute thought, but he didn't know how much fame she'd get from being in the middle of nowhere in Pennsylvania.

"I'm going to start out my career in musical theatre. Move to New York, then when I hit big there, go to Hollywood," she sounded so sure of herself. Cole just nodded and continued to repair the bridge. Azoris didn't have dreams. They didn't have aspirations. They were set to one lifestyle, and one only. He grimaced when he thought of it, but his back was to her so she didn't see. He tore out the rotted board with such strength that it flew into the river and split on a rock with a clatter. Margaret stared wide-eyed at it for a moment. In that moment, there was complete silence.

"Guess I just got excited. Sounds like some pretty big dreams," Cole turned over his shoulder to face her, giving her a large grin. Yes, Cole. Smiling. Margaret found it to be quite charming, and began to blush a bit.

"Do you want me to sing something? That way you could get a gist of what I sound like and can tell me whether I'm dreaming too big or not," she suggested. Cole nodded. He had somehow played that off as interest. He turned back to working as she began to sing. It wasn't bad, her voice, but she'd need a few voice lessons if she wanted to sing with the pros. He closed his eyes and imagined the gypsy songs Flynn had taught him. Melodic, beautiful, and sad.

After the song, there was silence for a moment again on her part, and all that could be heard was the pounding of the hammer on nails. She picked up the platter with the lemonade pitcher on it and walked back toward the house. Cole was once again left alone with his thoughts. By the time he finished the bridge, it was high noon. He figured that they should only stay another day before leaving. Deana would have been stranded there on the island, but he doubted she'd be stranded for long. He would have to check Blaze's wing—maybe she could fly on it tonight. He hadn't seen her properly fly since he first met her. Still, he liked the whole peaceful setting of the fields. No one could sneak up on another. That was a horrible way to go about judging a place, but it was true.

Azoris kept to the shadows. The only shadows here were the thin tree and shrub linings. He was out of his element, but he also liked it that way. If anyone from his family tried to find him, they too would be out of their element. However, no one had been after him for years. Now someone was after Blaze. It was sort of strange, but he felt that he needed to protect her from them. It wasn't his place to—he barely knew her. It had been so abrupt when they came for her, that he barely had time to think. Rationalize. Now he was in a mess with her.

Did he regret it? He would have regretted it if he had done nothing. He sighed and wiped the sweat off of his brow.

Blaze sighed and wiped the sweat off of her brow. She had been working on rust stains on the oven for an hour, and had almost gotten all of them off. The house was old, as were the stains, so it wasn't easy. It was a good way to get out her frustration, though.

What could she be frustrated at? She had a few years of peace and quiet—how had they found her? Maybe someone at the backstreets let loose that there was a birdkid flying around the redwoods. Or maybe they had never lost track of her in the first place. That was a scary thought. She shook her head and kept scrubbing. Allen passed her as he was sweeping the floor, and she remembered that she needed to come up with a fairy tale. Perhaps something with a bird—that would be easy enough. Stories were fun to make up—she had made one for the littles in the Backstreets, but she forgot how it went.

"One day, there was a prince and princess in a castle. They were twins, and would play together all day, and sleep on huge stuffed animal teddy bears all night. They were so high in the sky, they dreamed of flying. When they woke up, they would take sheets to use for wings and jump off of the bed, always to fall onto the ground.

There was a huge war and soon they were alone in the castle. The prince and princess were sitting on the windowsill, crying because they were alone and because they couldn't fly. A bird landed between them and flapped its wings. They looked at it, and the girl went to stroke it, but it hopped away from her and into the air. It turned, staring at them with its beady eyes.

"Are you coming, or what?" it asked, tilting its head to the side. The prince and princess looked at each other, then back at the bird.  
"We're just kids. We can't fly," the princess reasoned with it.

"Au contraire. Kids can do more than adults can. You want to know what it takes?" the bird asked, and the boy nodded quickly. The children leaned in close.

"You must believe. Fully believe that you can fly, and you will," the bird replied. The girl shook her head. That was impossible. They had been trying to fly for such a long time! It couldn't be that easy. They tried jumping in the room, and they fell once more. The bird shook its head.

"You have been trying to fly like a bird, but you have not flown as a bird." It proceeded to instruct them on how birds acted, how they ate, and walked, and finally, how they soared. How silly they looked, hopping around on one foot and flapping around the room with their arms, but they were learning.

"Are you ready to be the bird?" the raven asked. The boy nodded, and took a running start. He leapt through the window toward the bird, and out into the rain. The girl ran to the window and looked down, but she did not see her brother falling. She only saw two birds in the sky. She stared at them, unsure of how to respond.

"Join us, and fly," her brother urged. She looked back at the empty castle, then at her brother and the bird. She too ran through the room and leapt into the sky, and flew through the air forever." Blaze finished the story she had been saying to herself. Maybe that sounded weird. The ending was too mushy, and the bird was too creepy. Kids wouldn't be left alone anyway, would they? She knew otherwise. Before "Beta1", she was known as the "Box Baby" because apparently that's what she came in.

"Charming tale," she heard a voice from behind her. She spun around with the dirty rag and the steel wool in her hands, ready to fight if she had to. There, standing in front of her, was Cole, drenched in sweat with a hammer and sheet of paper in his hand.

"I see that cleaning-supplies karate is a growing profession," he joked, an eyebrow raised. She lowered her hands and looked away from him sheepishly. She hadn't heard him come in—it was Cole, she never heard him, even when she was right next to him. He set the hammer and paper down on the table.

"Tell Sue if you see her that I'm going to get cleaned up at the river, and I'll be back in time to help with dinner," he told her. She nodded as he went upstairs to get clothes to change into. Cole had been borrowing from Margaret's father, and Blaze from Margaret herself.

"I want to go down to the river too," she said, wiping her hands of rust stains. She needed to fill the water buckets again so she could properly wash her hands and face before supper, which was a custom there. She picked up the buckets, but he was already gone. She carried the buckets down a field, but she didn't see Cole or any water source. She decided to just keep walking.

Cole walked down the steps silently as always, and looked around. He had heard Blaze when she said she wanted to go too, but he knew that she didn't know the way.

"Blaze? I'm leaving. Blaze?" he called through the house, but with no answer. He saw that the water buckets were gone, and ran outside, the screen door banging open and shut behind him. He ran around the house, but she must have already been over one of the ridges. When he jogged down to the river, though, he didn't see her. That's when his heart started to beat faster. Where was she?

"Blaze?" he ran down the side of the stream, hoping to find her kneeling behind a large rock or fallen tree. Nothing.

"Dammit, Blondie," he muttered under his breath, and ran back toward the field on the other side of the house.


	9. As the Rain Pours Down

((Hey! So, the more reviews I get, the more hyped I get about posting new chapters. Even if it just says 'yo, cool story bro," it helps. Thanks!))

Cole bolted past the house and out into the other field. Where had that girl gone? How easy was it to lose a large bird kid in a field? Apparently, very easy. He cursed under his breath once more as he ran through the tall grasses. When he got to the cornfield at the far end of the property, he stopped. She wouldn't have gone through, would she have? He wiped some sweat from his face again—it was blisteringly hot, and he was wearing a flannel shirt. Now it was completely soaked through with sweat, if it hadn't been already.

"Blondie?" he called into the field, then self-corrected himself by saying her name instead. He knew she didn't like being called Blondie, but it was getting to be a habit. He decided to venture into the cornfields to see if she was there. The wind was starting to pick up, offering a nice breeze to cool him down as he ran, but it also made the corn stalks wave and dance so that every inch of movement caught in the corners of his eyes distracted him.

"Blaze?" he yelled, and still there was no answer.

What if she had been taken again? He would have no way of knowing where they would take her, unless they took her to the exact same spot (he guessed not). He hadn't heard any copters, and he hadn't seen any cars drive away. What, were they coming out of the ground like mole-men now? He continued to run until he got to the edge of the field, then stopped. She was still nowhere to be found. His legs burned a bit from how fast he had been going, but he wouldn't stop then. He headed back to the house—from the barn next to it, he would be able to see for miles if he were on top of it.

The logical way of getting onto the barn roof was to go up through the house and then climb across the top roof of the house, then step onto the barn roof and walk up it. Cole didn't have time for that. He jumped from the house to the barn and back, springing up each time he came in contact with a wall. He almost looked like he was from a Jackie Chan movie, he moved with such agility. When he got to the top of the roof, he scampered up to the top and stood on the thin brick structure holding everything up. His heart beat even faster, and he put a hand over his eyebrows to protect his vision from the dying sun's beams. It would be dark soon, and it would not be good for her to be lost in the middle of Pennsylvania. He was just about to call her name when he heard a window open behind him.

"What are you doing up there?" Blaze stuck her head out of the window and tilted it to the side, trying to understand what he was up to now. After she had walked in the wrong direction, she had returned. He had been calling her name, according to Granny Sue. She had been in the basement, looking for some canned peaches for desert, so she hadn't heard the calls. Blaze had decided to wait on the water until Cole got back so he could take her there. When she didn't get an immediate answer, she frowned and observed his actions further.

He was standing there, drenched in sweat, his pupils a bit wider than usual and his mouth slightly open, as if he were going to say something but couldn't come up with the words. His dark eyes met hers, and there was an awkward silence before he cleared his throat and looked away.

"I was just up here to check the weather. Based on the velocity of the wind, I'd say we have about half of an hour until it starts to storm. So we should get the water now as opposed to after dinner," he said, flicking some of his black hair away from his eyes with a tilt of his head. He said it in such a nonchalant way that she had a hard time believing Sue when she had said he had been running around looking for her. Sue was probably just making it up, or hearing things that weren't actually there. She nodded slowly, and then went back inside to get the buckets.

"Right. I'll meet you downstairs," she said, and left the window open in case he wanted to climb through it to get down. She hadn't seen him get up, but she had guessed he hadn't originally come through the window. Thinking back to when she first met him, how easily he navigated through the trees and leapt from one bridge to the next, or how he swung up from the low branch to the bridge she had been laying on, it was not hard for her to imagine that he had climbed his way up. Little monkey, he was.

Cole waited until she had closed the window before he let out a large breath that he had been keeping in his chest for a while. He relaxed his shoulders and shook his head. Why had he not checked inside of the house as well on his way back? It would have saved him a lot of trouble. He figured he played that off quite coolly—as if he hadn't almost freaked out about her being gone.

When Cole heard a screen door open below him, he looked to see Blaze with the water buckets. He dropped off of the roof of the barn (a good two to three story drop) and landed easily on the balls of his feet, his knees bent, with his arms on either sides of his knees for balance. Had she not seen it out of the corner of her eye, Blaze would have never guessed he was there, because there was almost no noise when he landed.

"Well, lead the way, then!" Blaze urged with a smile. She was thankful for the cool breeze, but she didn't like storms. The loud noise of the thunder scared her a lot. She had always been told never to fly in a thunderstorm because she would get hit by lightning. The large "boom!" always got to her. It rattled through her bones and across her heart. She shivered at the thought, and Cole looked to her.

"Y'alright, Blondie?" he asked, and she shot him a look. Beta1, Blondie, anything but Blaze she hated. Once, a drunk had called her 'Babe' as if it was her actual name, and she had to remove herself from the situation before she slapped him. She didn't use violence a lot—in fact, in most cases, she was against it. Still, she didn't like being called names which weren't her own.

"I'm fine," she assured him as she followed him through the field next to the one she had gone to. She had gone parallel to the river, but had not been near enough to see it. Cole nodded, and in that little bit of silence she could hear the water of the stream brush smoothly over the rocks. She picked up the pace until she could see the water, and smiled. She didn't know why she was so excited about it. Maybe it was just because it was pretty, with its new bridge and the trees leaning over the water, with minnows swimming in schools along the sides of it.

"Let's grab the water and go," Cole muttered, looking to the sky as it began to darken. He had miscalculated—granted, what he had said before about why he was on the roof was completely false, but the part about them having half an hour was false as well.

She handed him a bucket and they both dipped them into the river/stream thing at the same time. As they drew up the water, some spilled over the side, but a large portion of the water remained in the buckets. The house was not extremely far away, but the hill that they had to climb back up was treacherous in the wind. Cole felt the sweat on his head begin to dry due to the wind pushing his hair back. At least his hair wasn't in his eyes anymore.

Azoris usually had their hair slicked back. It was customary, in fact. All the boys had black hair, long enough to slick back with a comb to look quite handsome. They were a different type of criminal altogether. Cole grimaced to himself, and Blaze noticed but said nothing. He didn't see her watching him—he figured she was just focusing on not spilling the water as they walked up the hill, because that's what he was doing. The wind picked up more as they got to the top of the hill. By then, the house was in sight.

Cole nodded for them to hurry as it started to rain. First it began lightly, but in about one minute, it had turned to a total downpour. Blaze jumped in surprise, and they began to run with the water buckets in their arms. They didn't mind a bit of rain getting into the buckets, but they didn't want to get soaked themselves. It was a good thing that Blaze's jacket was water-resistant, so her wings were kept dry, but that didn't do much for her legs or for her head. By the time they got inside, her shoes, socks and head were soaked, and Cole wasn't much better. He wasn't wearing anything water resistant, so he was dripping all over the place.

The loose flannel hung off of him, leaving a small puddle behind him as water dripped from the soaking sleeves. His borrowed jeans seemed to scoop the water behind him as he walked, making a bigger mess than he would have liked. His hair stuck together and hung from his head like black stalactites.

"Stay there, don't drip all over the house," Granny Sue commanded. She brought them towels from the cabinet upstairs, and tossed their shoes next to the fire to dry. Blaze used a towel to hop up the stairs to the bathroom, and Granny Sue brought her some new pants to change into. Cole rolled up the bottoms of his jeans so he wouldn't drip all over, and bolted to their room. He lay a towel under his feet and peeled off the wet clothing after finding new clothes to change into.

Blaze looked into the mirror once she was done changing, and tried to fix her hair so that it wouldn't be a bother to her. She brushed it out with her fingers, then took a hairband and twisted her hair until it was tight, rolling it into a bun so it would stay off of her neck and dry clothes. Granny Sue had also given her thick wool socks which had been warming by the fire. They felt very nice on her toes, and she giggled as she rubbed them together. She brought her clothes down to dry by the fire, and had on a blanket over a baggy shirt that covered her wings.

"There are some slippers up in your room in a box under the bed," Granny Sue offered. Blaze nodded sheepishly as she slid on the wooden floors by the fire. She slowly managed to make her way over to the stairs. It took her some time, but she was having fun with it, as if she were ice skating. She had never been ice skating, and always wanted to. She had been planning to, that winter, once people were off the rink at night and when everything closed down. She was going to let her wings out and glide on the ice, pushing with her feet and directing her path with her wings. That was New York, though. She didn't know where she'd be a half year from now when the first snows would strike down.

She opened the door to her room and walked toward the bed when she froze. She wasn't the only one in there. She looked up, and Cole was frozen as well, staring at her. He had dry jeans on, and a dry shirt in hand. Her eyes traced the scars on his chest and torso, down his abs and roping around his back. Some were intersected with white scars in opposing directions. There were larger, purple scars as well from what seemed like long gashes. She was not able to pull her eyes away from the red crossed lines which etched his skin. Her mouth fell open a tiny bit, not sure how to react. He chose that for her.

"Out," he bellowed in a low voice. She flinched, standing up straight and forgetting completely that she had the box of slippers in her hand. She almost dropped them, then looked at her hands, adjusted the box, then looked back at him. A large crash of thunder broke her concentration, and she forgot what she was doing for a split moment.

"Get out," he repeated, his voice dangerously harsh. As if the world was playing along, another crash of thunder and lightning boomed through the that, she leapt out the door and closed it behind her with a slam. She leaned against the door, heart pounding.

((Strangely enough, when I was writing the next bit, this came on Spotify. The mood fits. watch?v=uNnEReAd80w ...sorry for the story interruption.))

The fear and confusion in her chest invoked tears to come to her eyes, but she didn't let them fall. She rolled so that her shoulder and head were the only things touching the door. She then put her left hand to the door, as if putting her hand there would make it so that she could reach out to him and help him from whatever hell had created those marks on him.

When the door slammed behind her, Cole was alone once more in the room. She wasn't the only one which had things to hide, though his were much easier to hide than large white wings. Margaret had been suggesting that they go for a swim in the water earlier, and Cole had declined because he didn't want to get completely soaked. She made the point that he could just swim in his jeans or boxers, but he refused.

He felt bad, though. Amongst the pain he felt for scaring Blaze, there was the old pain of the scars themselves, both the physical and mental residues which crushed down on his chest. Facing the door, he let his forehead fall against it, his eyes closed and his jaw clenched. His left arm was pointed above him and leaning against the wood, and his right hand was flat against the door.

The rain poured on, but there was no further thunder.


End file.
